


The Art of Lock Picking

by KestrelShrike



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Lock Picking, Theory is boring, but they weren't practicing lock picking, day to day activities, if you know what i mean, practice is far more fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wanted to write something that was a little day to day snippet of what life is like for Solas and Lavellan. It's not all grand, passionate affairs. Sometimes you simply read to each other... Until a better idea comes along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Lock Picking

The Art of Lock Picking and A History of Locks sat in front of her. They were absolute classics, or so Leilana insisted. They may well have been important members of the canon, but their dusty covers said much about how interesting they were. It would be a shame for a rogue to be unable to pick the most difficult locks, but when had theory eclipsed practice? Before Leilana would even give her practice locks to work at, she had insisted the Inquisitor sit down and read. It was cruelty.

Under ordinary circumstances, Kestrel Lavellan actually enjoyed reading- even those trashy novels that Varric had written, and that Cassandra tried to hide her love for. Those were interesting. Books on history, on flora and fauna, even heavy theological texts were all readable. They could all be used to pass the time in an enjoyable matter. These books, slim as they were, threatened to send her to sleep. She read the same sentence over and over again, none of it sticking in her mind. It was something about the nature of tumbling locks, how they differed… Her eyes were slowly closing.

A knock at her door. Eager for an excuse to break away, Kestrel almost ran to the door, ripping it open. Her enthusiasm certainly startled Solas, who stepped back a pace and blinked rapidly. 

“Am I interrupting? He was courteous as always, constantly worrying that he took her time away from Inquisition duties. Kestrel’s reassurances never seemed to do much to ease the frown that lingered between his eyes at those times. In her darkest moments, late at night, she stared up at the stone ceiling and wondered if Solas was seeking a reason to leave her, a flimsy excuse to act upon. In the morning, she felt silly to have doubted him.

“Theoretically, yes, you are interrupting. Step in, sit down.” It took all of her willpower not to grab him by his shirt front and thrust him into the chair, to hold Solas as a captive audience to the dry words she skimmed over. 

He sat down in the indicated chair, still looking faintly bemused by the entire process. “What are you studying? It looks as if you haven’t gotten far into your books.” Ah yes. Thanks for pointing that out. She truly hadn’t noticed until that point. Kestrel bit her tongue. There was little point in taking her frustration out on him. 

“Leilana thought it was time that I learnt the finer points of picking locks. The Dalish only had simple locks, so I’m stuck reading theory until she feels I’m ready to move into practice.” Kestrel shrugged, sitting in her own chair heavily. Her hair was down for once, not held back by braids or tied into a bun. It fell into her eyes, barely combed. Her fingers kept running through it, making the whole mess worse. It was not exactly the most attractive she had ever looked, but Solas always seemed to find the beauty in odd things. Hopefully he could see through it all and still find her lovely, or graceful, or whatever words he chose to use that day.

“I know nothing of locks. If you will allow me to, we can learn together.” He picked up one of the books, turning it over in his hands, running one finger down the spine. A shiver passed through Kestrel’s body, though she thought she managed to hide it passably. 

“We can start with history,” she began. “A History of Locks says that lock picking has always been a woman’s gift, because of all the little things we wear in our hair. I think there are some rather sexist implications that we like to snoop too.” A smile, mischievous and brief, as she tried to look and sound suitably scholarly. Every now and then she would look up from the book to make sure that Solas was paying attention, and that he was still finding her little game amusing. 

“This book,” he responded, “States that picking locks has an origin lost in the history of time. I am assured that it has always been a form of expression.” Solas never needed to fake a scholarly tone. Some found it condescending, annoying, but the Inquisitor had grown inordinately fond of it. He imparted his wisdom because he thought she deserved it, or he thought he was being helpful. Fully aware that he could be off putting, Kestrel none the less wished that others would sometimes stop and listen. 

“I can’t make this anything but dry, no matter how hard I try. Here we have some simply fascinating diagrams of different historic locks found throughout Thedas, with cut away diagrams. Apparently we’ll learn the best way to approach unlocking them in nefarious ways some time within the next twenty pages.” She slid the book over to him. The pictures were needlessly complex. The nuances of smithing were something beyond both their experiences, and Kestrel somehow doubted she would ever need to replicate these locks herself. She just needed to know how to open them. 

“Before you came in, I was nodding off. I’m afraid that even with you here, I’m still slipping away.” There was something wicked to her face now, a Puckish glint rarely seen in these grim times. “I think things would be much simpler if we read in bed, so that if I pass out, you won’t need to carry me there.” And if other things happened in bed? It wouldn’t be the first time, and it would certainly be more exciting than reading back and forth to each other, both trying to pretend the material was stimulating. 

“I think, vhenan, that you have excellent ideas.” Both stood up, though they kept up their charade of studying, carrying the books into bed with them.


End file.
